


Only

by jemejem



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil breakup, Angst, Lots, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Therapy, angst angst angst, how to be sad with Jem, sads sads sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-12-06 20:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11608131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: There's only so much you can do.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s only so much you can do, Neil thought, sitting on the couch. 

Matt was getting dinner, staying only overnight.

He still hated it, being alone. He’d spent too much time alone, and had never opted for it, if given a choice. 

Long distance meant he didn’t have one.

It wasn’t like his fifth year at Palmetto: He had purpose, and he had a role to fill. A team to bring to success. A coach with a careful eye, an almost-friend to become close to. 

There was nothing like that here, in New York. 

He was living in the most horrible of apartments, because he was paranoid. He’d made the cut, but pleasing the Moriyamas depended on how well his team would succeed that season, and if they didn't? The expense given to the yakuza would be out of his own living expenses. 

That wasn’t purpose. It was survival, all over again. Eating because it was necessary, sleeping because it was necessary. 

And fuck -- even Exy. He felt the same rush when he leapt and slung a ball just out of reach of the goal keeper’s net, but the ever-present weight still sat on his shoulders. Knowing that he couldn’t play this sport just because he loved it, but that he had to give what he earned over in exchange for his life.

He wouldn’t be able to quit exy, even if he was starting to hate it. 

Which he was. 

Practise reminded him of when he willingly agreed to signing his life down, because he’d thought there hadn’t been any other alternatives. There had been alternatives. Neil of all people should have remembered that: There was no one way to get out of a sticky situation. It was never simply life or death. 

He should have offered something else. There was a buzz in his brain that he couldn’t ignore, and it made it difficult to think, but there had to be some other way he could have done it. 

A way that wouldn’t have torn him and Andrew apart, putting hundreds of miles between them. 

Maybe -- maybe if they were together, actually together -- this wouldn’t have happened. 

Exy was -- had been -- everything. To Neil. But he knew that he would put Andrew above his career, which whittled down to the simplest of facts Neil already knew: He would die. For Andrew. To keep Andrew alive. To keep Andrew happy. 

Blindly, Neil thought that Andrew thought more or less the same. He’d had enough of repeating his old mantra of I’m nothing. He wasn’t nothing. But he wasn’t anything to Andrew. 

Six days, no calls, no texts. Absolutely nothing, not since Neil had sent the 'i know about him'. 

Foolishly, he’d called Nicky. 

“Oh. Neil.” Nicky was foolish and in perfect love with a man who was in perfect love with him. “I -- Maybe Andrew’s just an open-relationship person. It might not mean he isn't in--” Nicky cut off unsubtly, because no one ever mentioned it around either of them. They didn’t know what it meant. “-- with you. Not any less. Some people just are -- bigger than one person.”

But I’m not, Neil thought.

Neil wasn’t. He was the narrowest of pin holes: He was pretty sure that there would only be one man he could feel this way for. For the same man to be able to see beyond Neil was -- a pretty absurd idea. 

Nicky had apologised, Neil had nodded despite it being a phone call, knowing Nicky couldn’t see him, and hung up before he could hear another one of Nicky’s sighs. 

He’d turned to Matt, instead, who lived in Columbia with Dan, now that she was an assistant coach of the Foxes and pregnant. Matt’d said he was visiting his mother for the week -- Neil knew a lie when he heard one -- and promised to come over. 

Half of the scotch bottle on the table in front of Neil was empty. The buzzing in his head wouldn’t go away. 

“I’m back, buddy.” Matt eyed the bottle as he kicked the front door closed. “Too drunk to eat?”

“I’m not drunk.” Neil’s voice sounded quiet and small. 

“I’m sorry, Neil.” He said, when he was already halfway through his container of take-out.

“I don’t understand why people are apologising.” Neil stabbed his food. He wasn’t hungry. 

“It’s a way of trying to connect with you, on an emotional level.” Matt had never laughed at Neil fumbling around with how to talk to people as a person. He’d always just been blunt and factual but forgiving and understanding when Neil fucked up or didn’t know what to say. 

Neil really appreciated that. 

“He cheated on you, Neil. That’s what it is: I can see you trying to work it out under those curls.”

Neil stabbed at his food again. “Makes me sound like some distressed wife on a reality TV show.”

“He didn’t tell you. You never agreed to it. That makes it cheating. Nicky’s ‘he could just be an open-relationship’ is bullshit and you know it. You know him better than all of us.”

“I want to ignore it.” Neil hated how raw it sounded. “But I’m mad, too. I don’t understand it.”

“You’d think he’d be more careful.” Mat murmured. 

“What, like it was an accident?”

“No. But you’re you. And he knows you. You’d think he’d be more --” Matt couldn’t find the word he was looking for and eventually clamped his mouth shut. 

“I’m not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean. But it’s -- if he needed to find someone else, then what don’t I --” 

“Have that he’s looking for? Yeah.” Matt dropped his container onto the table. “Yeah, no. Neil. There’s absolutely nothing you should have to do to make him stay. You’re not unsatisfactory or not enough. If Andrew wasn’t happy with you, then fuck him.”

That hurt. “But what if I was happy with him?” 

Matt shut his eyes. “That’ll be the hard part, Neil.” 

Neil looked back at his food. “You think I should end it.”

“The two of you were all or nothing, Neil. We all thought it would pan out. Maybe we were wrong: We were wrong about it starting in the first place. It’s your decision and no one elses, but.” He offered a sad smile. “If I ever did that to Dan, she would curse me to the ninth circle of hell with no regrets, and I’d deserve it, but I also know it’ll never happen. I have no reason to ever find anyone else, and I know I never will.”

“But Andrew’s an asshole.” Neil grimaced. 

Matt’s sad smile was accompanied with an apologetic shrug. “Always was.”

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault. But Neil just had to look at the rest of his family to know that Andrew did make a lot of decisions, purposefully choosing the worst, whether it was to hurt someone or completely disregarding consequences. That wasn’t okay.

Are you going to be the last person to leave him, when he needs someone he can trust, more than anyone else? 

No, Neil wasn’t.

It wasn’t fair, but it was true.

“Thank you, Matt.” Neil leaned his head forward when Matt offered his hand, and let him cup the side of his head. “But I’m going to see how this pans out. Before deciding. He still hasn’t -- contacted me. I know it’s...not me. Or my fault.”

“You know what you’re doing.” Matt seemed pleased by Neil’s reasonable answer and grabbed his fork to steal a mouthful of Neil’s takeout, despite his own being on the table. He talked around a mouth full of food and Neil almost smiled. “We going to continue Elementary from where we left off? Titanic? K-K-U-K?”

Neil smiled a little more. “Elementary sounds good.”

Andrew’s team was playing tonight. Matt was a good enough friend to know that.

You’re not alone. You’re not alone. You’re not alone. 

He still felt it, though, it’s ever-present weight on his chest, the numb nothingness of his mind. 

~

Neil looked up at Betsy and grimaced. “Pills?” 

She smiled hesitantly. “They can help ground you. There’s a lot of terrible stigma around medicating for mental illnesses, but it’s to help you.”

“Some of it’s not stigma.” He remembered a wide grin, the feral gleam to his eyes. 

A month and a half later, still nothing. The last two games he'd played had yielded startling results: The loss hadn’t wasn’t followed by it’s usual ferocious disappointment, his determination to be better. The win two weeks later didn’t make his heart race, his chest tight with pride and relief. 

Just. Nothing. 

Then he saw that feeling numb was a symptom of depression. Real depression. A diagnosable illness. 

And he’d called Betsy.

“I know you may think that. And I know why. God, of all people, Neil, I would know, wouldn’t I? He was my patient.”

She’d been very careful around Andrew’s mentioning. Both of them knew that Neil would never have called Betsy on his own, not without a push from Andrew, or in this case, because of him. 

“Antidepressants help level you.” Betsy explained, leveling her hand. “They bring you up from the ditch onto the level playing ground, giving you the little push so that you’re at the same starting line as everyone else when it comes to happiness. Or achieving it. Does that help you to understand?”

“Andrew’s pills were antidepressants, weren’t they?”

“Euphoria inducing drugs.” Betsy said, quietly. “Not the same. The illusion of happiness is -- a cruel thing to give someone. He wasn’t happy for a long time.”

“You imply he eventually was happy.”

“Dare I say, when he found you?” 

Neil said nothing. Felt nothing. 

“Neil,” She said softly, eyes softened with concern. “What happened?” 

"Andrew’s okay, if that’s what you’re asking.” Neil hadn’t a clue if Andrew was okay: He was beginning to hope that he wasn’t, that he was struggling from refraining to call him a dozen times like Neil wanted to, that he missed Neil’s good morning texts as much as Neil missed his good night texts. 

“I asked what happened.”

“No, Betsy.”

“Okay.” She murmured. “I’ll get in contact with an affiliate. I know we’ve had three Skype sessions already, but maybe you’d prefer to sit with someone? Get to know someone, instead of being forced to trust me, through a screen. Maybe consider antidepressants, Neil. I’m very happy that you trusted me enough to talk with you.”

“So it is depression?” Neil finally, finally looked at her. 

Silvering hair and silver eyes. He’d distrusted her on principal, but he’d had to work very closely with her in stitching up the team whilst captain. A woman worth respecting, and despite being each other’s nightmares -- a well practised liar and a well practised analyser -- they’d figured it out. 

“Yeah, Neil. I really think so.”

“How do you...” Neil clenched his fists. 

“How do I know? It’s easier when my patient suspects. If they relate to other stories, can label symptoms. You’re a walking textbook definition of depression, Neil, and I’m sorry. It’s not easily avoidable, it’s deadly common. I’m sorry that I haven’t been there earlier to support you. Maybe I would have seen you -- falling into the ditch, so they say.”

How could you have been there for me: We’re worlds away. “Thanks, Betsy. Send me the address of the psychiatrist.”

“Will do, Neil.” She smiled gently. “Have a good evening.”

“You too.” He said. She hung up for him. 

He didn’t move for another hour but to rest his chin on his hand and stare at the wall behind his laptop. 

He’d only installed Skype to call Andrew.

He quit the application and removed it from his dock. 

Don’t need this anymore. 

~

“Betsy, come on.” 

Betsy paused. Their past few calls had been most certainly more tense: Betsy could pick up agitation over text alone. Andrew was practically her son. She could read his mood from what time he called: It was currently three in the morning. He had stayed up for hours agonising over himself and his thoughts and then called Betsy out of pure frustration. 

He never called her Betsy. It was Bee. Once: Mom. 

“Andrew.” She said, in an equally frustrated tone. “What?”

“Neil, you talked to Neil. He called you. What did he say?”

Betsy had been on the phone to Andrew when Neil had first texted, asking to talk to her on the phone. She knew that they were momentarily estranged from each other: She’d initially thought it was the stress of long distance, and the agony of waiting months to see each other. Now she was sure it was something more trying than that. Andrew must have worked it out, but hadn’t said anything till now. 

“I can’t say, Andrew.” She said, softly.

“Patient confidentiality.” He said sourly. “Sucks, doesn’t it? But that means he’s your patient. Which means he’s not okay. Why? What happened?”

Betsy frowned. “I thought that you’d perhaps pushed him into it.”

“Pushed him into it?” He snapped. “I--

“Andrew, breathe.”

He took a moment. 

“I haven’t spoken to Neil in six weeks. And two days.”

Oh. Betsy shut her eyes. “Why not?”

“Because I was with someone else. And he found out.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Betsy snapped. “Andrew.” 

Silence. 

“You don’t usually supply such a strong person opinion on my mistakes.” 

“You don’t usually -- no. You haven’t done something so careless for many years, Andrew.”

“What, the cheating or him finding out?”

“You think this is a joke?” Betsy found her own voice hushed. “I watched the string of my mother’s infidelity break my father into a million pieces.”

“Did I finally unlock your pathetic sob story, Bee?”

“Congratulations, Andrew. Do you feel validated now?” 

He was finally quiet.

“I’m not your therapist anymore, Andrew.” Betsy was worried she’d gone too far. She knew that the two of them had a unique relationship simply because she’d stuck out for him when almost no one else had. She and Neil shared an understanding. “I’m not your mother, but I’m more than a mentor. I’m family: You said so yourself. So allow me to ask: Why would you step out of your way to do something when there was absolutely no reason to do it?” 

“How do you know there wasn’t a reason?” He said, voice rough. 

“Because he is everything to you.”

Andrew swallowed audibly. 

“And you know that he’s different, Andrew. His sexuality isn’t as black-and-white as yours. It’s singular and particular and it’s intense because the chances of him finding someone else to connect so deeply with, deep enough to spark similar infatuation with, is slim. And you know that. So why?”

“I don’t know.” He said. And then again: “I don’t know. He’s -- there’s no reason. It just happened. Consciously, yeah. Consensual, of course. But did I need it? No. I barely wanted it. It was like giving into the tiniest of itches on a scab wound. Stupid and just makes things -- bleed. Again. I didn’t need it, and I didn’t need to do it, not like I need him. Neil.”

“Andrew.” Betsy whispered. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He concluded. “It’s been six weeks since I panicked and shut off my phone for three days. I don’t know what to do. He doesn’t get that. He doesn’t get being able to find someone else, because he can’t. I don’t know what to do.” He paused. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive you?” 

“Ng--” He cut himself off, coughing. His voice was scratchy and broken. “No.”

They were quiet for a long time. 

“Maybe some time down south me would be a good idea.” Betsy said, desperate to fill his heart broken silence. 

Heart broken teenage boy. 

He was 28. Not a teenager anymore. 

“Maybe.”

“Thanks for opening up to me, Andrew.” It felt a little cruel to say it this time, but she’d said it since the first time he’d said something a little more meaningful. 

“You’re welcome.” He’d replied every time, pausing at the doorway. There was slight hesitation before the line went dead. 

~

Neil was minding his own business, having collapsed on the couch at three in the morning, after the afters party, which was after the after-game-dinner, which was after the actual game. He was absolutely dead on his feet. 

Dead enough to not register the knock on his door. His angsty younger self would have lamented about how his mother would have beaten him black and blue for being so exhausted to miss someone knocking on the damn door. 

They knocked again, louder, and Neil’s eyes popped open. He sat up, still in his slacks and button down, collar popped. He dragged the blanket with him, clutching the corners together in one fist as he held a blunt knife in the other. He still managed to turn the door handle and pull it open. 

“No, no.” He shook his head, letting the door fall closed. 

“Neil!” Andrew’s palm slammed against it, shoving it wide open and falling inside with the force of it. Neil stumbled out of the way and the door slammed shut behind him with a distinct air of finality. 

Nothing, for the first minute. Hour. Eternity. 

But Neil was feeling more than he’d felt in two, long months, even on his second brand of antidepressants. His heart was racing. There was a rope pulled tight around his neck. He could barely breathe: He could barely contain himself. Heat shimmered over his skin at the sight of him, hair mussed by the wind, the tip of his nose reddened by the cold, swath in the coat Neil had bought him only a few months ago, in preparation for winter. His hair was longer. His shave was sloppier. His eyes had lost whatever spark they’d had before. 

Neil hated he was making these comparisons and feeling concern creep up his throat. 

“Get out.”

“Think I was dead?”

“Get out.” Neil’s voice wobbled. 

Something in Andrew cracked and his eyes dropped to gaze at the floor with a jerky nod of his head, turning towards the door. 

Neil didn’t touch him but called out “How?” before he could open the door. Andrew’s hand froze. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t whisper but his voice was soft.

“Who is he?” 

Andrew turned around, looking at pained as Neil had ever seen him. “He was nothing, was. He was nothing and nobody at all, Neil -- was.”

“And so am I.” Neil wrapped his arms around his stomach: He’d dropped the blanket and the blunt knife. 

“No, nev--”

“Get out.”

“Neil, I--”

“Leave!”

“Neil, please.” 

Two men, equally devoid of hope, staring at each other like they were strangers. 

Neil hated that word too. Please.

“Goodbye, Andrew.”


	2. What I Didn't Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> texting

**_to: Drew // 21:04 24/1_** _saved - unsent_  
andrew.. are you okay?

**_to: Drew // 00:32 25/1_** _saved - unsent_  
nicky is worried about you 

**_to: Drew // 00:51 25/1_** _saved - unsent_  
i miss you 

**_to: Drew // 20:34 28/1_** _saved - unsent_  
i shouldn’t miss you but i do

i dont understand

how does that work, why would you be looking for someone else?

i miss you a lot but i cant imagine you’re missing me, if there’s someone else

you said he was nothing but you say im nothing 

and then you said i was never nothing

but you say you’re not a liar

so what’s the truth, andrew?? 

_message deleted from drafts: 29/1_

**_to: Drew // 02:45 2/2_** _saved - unsent_  
i want to ring you

we used to ring each other because it was easier to fall asleep, listening to each other 

im pretty sure i always fell asleep first

i cant sleep, drew 

**Change Contact Name from: Drew to: Andrew**

**_to: Andrew // 05:32 16/2_** _saved - unsent_  
betsy won't leave me alone, is that you? asking her to check on me?

i think i’m hoping that its you 

i think I'm delusional

**_to: Andrew // 08:30 16/2_** _saved - unsent_  
these drafts to you are turning into a journal

i didn’t realise i was so emotional when half asleep. or drunk. when did i start drinking. i dont remember. 

**_to: Andrew // 01:01 26/2_** _saved - unsent_  
i should have said that i loved you

or maybe that would have scared you away 

**_to: Andrew // 02:21 28/2 saved_** _\- unsent_  
andrew 

andrew

**_to: Andrew // 04:57 8/3_** _saved - unsent_  
tell me you’re okay andrew 

**_to: Andrew // 00:47 12/3_** _saved - unsent_  
i didn’t think about you at all yesterday 

to be fair i was asleep till 11, and then had practise till five. then dinner with the team. they dont seem to care that im a moping, little piece of shit

**_to: Andrew // 23:55 16/3_** _saved - unsent_  
i miss you. it hasn’t stopped hurting. why? why, andrew? 

**_to: Andrew // 03:38 17/3_** _saved - unsent_  
im going to stop

bye andrew

**_to: Andrew // 00:00 24/3_** _saved - unsent_  
why did you say please andrew?

~

**_to: Neil // 00:50 2/2_ ** **\- sent**  
I’m sorry. 

**_to: Neil // 22:36 2/4_ ** **\- sent**  
I’m still sorry. 

**_to: Andrew // 22:42 2/4_ ** **\- sent**  
how 

****

**_to: Neil // 22:43_ ** **\- sent**  
What do you mean, how? 

****

**_to: Andrew // 22:45_ ** **\- sent**  
how could you still be sorry? 

****

**_to: Neil // 22: 46_** _saved - unsent_  
Because I love you.

**_to: Neil // 22:47_ ** **\- sent**  
Because I didn’t mean it. 

****

**_to: Andrew // 22:50_ ** **\- sent**  
because it was nothing 

****

**_to: Neil // 22:51_ ** **\- sent**  
Yes. And I’m sorry for lying to you. You were never nothing. I thought you would have guessed. 

****

**_to: Andrew // 23:07_ ** **\- sent**  
i cant believe im talking to you. what the fuck is it with you and completely dropping off the face of the earth? dont come to my place after six weeks of silence and don’t talk to me after two months of absolutely nothing 

****

andrew

**_to: Neil // 23:10_ ** **\- sent**  
I’m sorry. I can’t do this over text. 

****

**_to: Andrew // 23:12_ ** **\- sent**  
for fucks sake 

****

i ccant do this

**_to: Neil // 23:13_ ** **\- sent**  
Neil? 

****

Are you okay.

**_to: Andrew // 23:14_ ** **\- sent**  
go away. just go away. 

****

**_to: Andrew // 23:15 2/4_** _saved - unsent_  
why, god why. why do you still matter. why am i so scared of you hurting yourself. why cant you just ask me to forgive you. i will i will i will forgive you, andrew, dont you know???

****

**_to: Neil // 23: 14 2/4_** _saved - unsent_  
fuck you neil 

****

~

****

**_to: David // 19:37 4/4_ ** **\- sent**  
hey David, it’s Bee. Andrew’s coming down to Palmetto next week for a little bit of time with me. Just thought you should know. 

********

**_to: Bee Dobson // 19:45_ ** **\- sent**  
Sorry Bee, I was just eating dinner. You do realise that I have you as a contact on my phone so you dont have to introduce yourself every time. Why is Andrew coming back? I didn’t think he’d step one foot back here once he didn’t have to? 

********** **

**_to: David // 19:45_ ** **\- sent**  
sorry for disrupting dinner, and it’s habit to introduce myself every time, its what i do with clients. he and neil broke up. neither of them are okay with it, but neil’s completely ignored me. andrew’s answering all my calls but saying absolutely nothing, until i suggested he come down. 

************ ** **

**_to: Bee Dobson // 19:46_ ** **\- sent**  
fucking hell. that cant be good. 

************** ** ** **

**_to: David // 19:47_ ** **\- sent**  
i have no idea how im going to help him. neil was his only life line. for christ’s sake, this is my job. but im lost. I'm so scared im going to lose him, or that i already have. 

**************** ** ** ** **

**_to: Bee Dobson // 19:48_ ** **\- sent**  
Bee, dont talk shit. he’s coming down here willingly: we’ll take his mind off things and help him get back on his feet. where’s he staying? 

****************** ** ** ** ** **

**_to: David // 19:49_ ** **\- sent**  
not sure: i wasn’t allowed to have him at my place before, because he was my patient. im sure he’d be more comfortable sleeping at yours. 

******************** ** ** ** ** ** **

**_to: Bee Dobson // 19:50_ ** **\- sent**  
You’re right. I’ll stay with him. 

********************** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

fuck, Bee. 

********************** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

**_to: David // 19:52_ ** **\- sent**  
I know. i know. we’ll fix it. we’ll help him. don’t worry. 

************************ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

~

************************ ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeek
> 
> sorry for anything occ


	3. relearning trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this has been on tumblr for a little while, but I finally had the time (and motivation) to put it here. xx

There was something to be said about a fear of heights.  
Most, at the very least, felt some sort of vertigo when staring over an edge. Some felt something a little more potent.  
Others lied.  
And some saw the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Andrew had been on so many more aeroplanes since that flight from California to Southern Carolina, but the sputtering engines and unsubtle swoops still froze him. He didn’t move for the entire flight back to Upstate Regional, wishing he could have his knives. 

He should have driven. 

It was strange to desire his knifes as much as he did: He hadn’t needed their presence for a long, long time, not when the gap was filled. 

That gap had reappeared, torn at the edges and larger than ever before. 

The flight touched down and Andrew’s head fell back, eyes shut, stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. 

He bolted. It was hard to not seemed panicked: He wasn’t panicked, but he was cramped up, feeling like he was being tossed around on puppet strings. He fucking hated it. 

Bee was waiting for him at arrivals, swathed in light like some avenging angel, and Andrew fucking hated it. He hated that the southern humidity and the sight of the only woman who’d given a damn made him feel a little more anchored. He’d given so much to Neil: It wouldn’t be long before this haven was torn away from him too. 

He swallowed and swallowed and swallowed again. It didn’t do much to the cotton wad in his throat, and the constricting sensation of being swarmed by other bodies, despite there being no one remotely close to them at this ungodly hour of the morning. 

Bee smiled warmly and offered her hands. He nodded: She placed them gently on his shoulders. 

“Welcome back.” She said it like this place was home. 

Palmetto hadn’t been anything but the place he’d met Neil: And then, the place he would go back to visit Neil. So now, it was technically nothing. You couldn’t go back to something that wasn’t yours anymore. Not even nostalgia could keep him company: He fucking hated this place. 

She’d bought a new car and it still smelled fresh. It was stony silence on the drive, filled with the generic pop music that Bee enjoyed and Andrew didn’t loathe enough to bother changing it. 

Andrew would like to say that he felt nothing, but he was impossibly angry. He was furious. It shook his hands and clenched his jaw and make his stomach tie itself in knots. 

He pulled out his phone and stared at his blank screen. He’d run his battery dead over the past week, staring at the texts that he’d sent, wondering how it’d gone so wrong. 

He knew Neil. He knew how it’d gone so wrong, but he was incapable of fixing it. They couldn’t attempt that over the phone. It was killing Andrew: He needed to know if they could come back from this. He needed an ultimatum more real than just _go away_. If he was going to lose his reason to live completely, he had to have some sort of closure. 

Bee would have a heart attack if she knew what he was thinking. 

Andrew had tethered himself to the world with a single thread, and made the mistake of assuming it was much thicker than it truly was. 

And then he’d cut it. 

~

“Neil!”

Dan crushed him, but not before hesitating for his confirmation. 

It had been a while: She’d been an assistant coach in Maryland and a full-time coach over in Washington. Now she was in South Carolina, assistant coach of Matt’s professional team down in Augusta and slowly filling in for Wymack, learning how to handle the Foxes, one season and set of players at a time. 

“Hello.” He said, voice weak with oxygen deprivation. Sucking in a gasp of air when she let him go, he smiled weakly. “Hi, Dan. Where’s Matt?”

“He’s inside: We’re expecting the takeout to get here any moment, and you weren’t meant to be here for another hour.”

“Roads were clear.” Neil shrugged. It’d been a long stretch of driving with merely him and his dangerous snare of a mind. The still unfamiliar hatred of being alone pressed that accelerator down for him. Dan grabbed the tiny suitcase from behind him and threw open the front door. “Babe, the takeout’s at the door, do you mind?”

“Coming!” There was a loud clutter and Dan winked at him, taking his suitcase down the hall. “Hey, when’s Neil getting here, honey?” When Dan snuck into the guest room on the left, he called out again as he rounded the corner. “Dan?”

And then:

“Neil!” 

Neil gave Matt as flat of a look as possible before being engulfed in a lot of t-shirt and muscle, nearly knocking him over completely.  
“Neil, Neil, Neil, buddy!” Matt gushed; star struck, awed, amazed. Neil was still confused as to why: It was just him, just plain old Neil. “You’re early! Fantastic! Dan, Neil’s already here!”

Dan walked out of Neil’s room with a flat look. “I let him in, Matt.”

Matt grinned. “Right.”

Neil sunk between worn cushions, red duck curry thrust into his hands and warmth wrapping around him in a soft cocoon. The off season was just beginning, and he had the two of them and Palmetto just around the corner to ground him. Maybe a visit to Betsy. An introduction to the newest Foxes, if he was here long enough to meet them when they arrived. 

_It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine._

He wasn’t sure whether or not Andrew was the last or the only thing he wanted to talk about, and decided that Dan and Matt would dictate that choice for him. If they asked, he’d answer. If they didn’t, he wouldn’t say anything. It was like that for him, for most of the original Foxes. They would instigate and he would gladly continue, but starting something was where he was still finding trouble. 

It was a familiar scene: A television playing a movie in the background, Dan gently coercing Neil into conversation over dinner, Matt popping in and cutting over and constantly swiping his thumb over the back of Dan’s knuckles where they were clasped together, but nothing more. They were trying to be subtle about a lack of close-ness, Neil could understand that much. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about their carefulness: Seeing Dan with her legs draped over Matt’s lap wasn’t going to send him spiralling down into a ditch of depression. There wasn’t much further he could go, anyway. 

The guest room’s bed was soft and comfortable. Neil stayed awake and stared at the ceiling all night anyway, unable to sleep peacefully when he knew there were terrors behind his eyelids and no one to shake him out of sleep when it got nasty. 

Neil couldn’t sleep, so he agonised and analysed until he was rubbing his temples, attempting to calm the ache in his head. 

This wasn’t fine. 

Neil wasn’t sure of what he could do. He’d always been _fine_. What was left of him now that he wasn’t?

His fingers drifted to his phone and gripped it in a tight fist, fighting off stinging eyes, lips rolled into his mouth. 

_Andrew, come back._

~ 

Breakfast was a quiet affair. 

Neil ate blueberry pancakes that were too sweet and reminded him of exactly how Andrew liked his own. 

Andrew didn’t eat, but had his coffee without milk or sugar. Wymack was smart enough not to comment. 

Neither were asked about the other, but both were waiting for something to happen. 

~

Neil sat, fingers tapping on his thigh for the entire ride up to Palmetto. This year, there were no Foxes who stayed back for the rest of the summer like the Monsters had. The court was, in Dan’s opinion, scarily quiet. She was going back for the morning to help Wymack finalise dorm rooms but mostly to take a trip down nostalgia lane with Neil.  
He stared at the Tower on it’s grass knoll and did not look at the roof’s concrete ledge, because he knew he’d be looking for a tin tendril of smoke held between careful, calloused hands. He kept an eye out for the Foxhole Court’s looming orange arena. The sight of it didn’t bring him peace like it should have. It made him doubly as anxious. 

“What’s the code now?” Neil asked, half in jest. 

“Pretty sure it’s someone’s birthday.” Dan said, with a half-hearted shrug. 

Neil’s eyebrow quirked. “Whose?”

She paused after keying it in and glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t remember.”

Neil’s chest constricted when he ran the numbers through his head, and said numbly, “That’s the twins’ birthday.”

She shrugged again. “We alternate. Coincidence that it was one of us O-Gs, huh?”

Neil thought coincidences were bullshit. 

She shut the door behind them and shoved it closed to make sure it locked before looping her fingers around Neil’s wrist. The hallway was unlit and spookily dim, the only source of light from the small fogged window in the door. 

“I’m sorry, Neil.”

“Please don’t be.” He mumbled. 

“I know you probably think it’s stupid, but—“

“Dan, please don’t.”

She frowned. He started walking down the hallway but she refused to let it go. 

“Neil, you’re not okay. Are you going to talk about this?”  
“There’s not much I can do about it, Dan.” He murmured, pushing open the door to the foyer. 

“There’s not much you can do about it, but there’s plenty you can do for you.” Dan insisted. “You know that, right? It’s not a be-all-end-all. It’s not the end of the line.”

“Dan, I’m demi.” He knew what it meant, now. He hadn’t quite believed there was a label for him until he’d seen it, thought about it, related to it. “It is the end of the line.”

She looked pained. “Maybe.”

He turned around. There was no reasoning with her. 

_“Neil?”_

“Hey, Coach.” 

Wymack’s hair was considerably more silver, his face considerably more engraved. He wondered how different he looked since his old coach had last seen him without the grate of an Exy helmet distorting his appearance. 

“Neil, I didn’t think you’d be here.” Gruff, dismissing as always. Neil's heart, though still hiccuping and stumbling over itself, was wrapped in a soft blanket of familiarity. It was comfortable, and safe, and he recognised a glimmer of fondness in Wymack's eyes. 

“He’s down with me for a little while.” Dan, back to cheery-as-ever. “Tagging along on the off-season.”

“Court could do with a little use whilst no one’s here.” He grit his teeth. “Dan, a moment.”

Neil waited by the door and let his eyes slide closed as there was a harsh murmur from behind Wymack’s hastily shut door. Dan reemerged five minutes later, jaw clenched. 

“Everything okay?” 

Dan snapped out of her reverie but didn’t smile. “Fine. I’m just going to work out some hiccups with the dorm rooms with Coach, did you want some time on the court?”

“I’m actually going to go for a walk.” Neil decided. “Around campus.”

“I’ll ring you when I’m heading back to Augustus.”

“Sure.”

~

Andrew’s day hadn’t started particularly remarkable, but having Wymack and Danielle Wilds storming in, hot on his old coach’s heels, was a slight turn in events. 

“Fuck you.” Dan pointed her finger at him. 

“Dan,” Wymack said gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t.”

Dan stared at Andrew with her nostrils flared, breathing raggedly in a way that lifted up her shoulders. Her eyes slowly slid shut, but her jaw and fists remained clenched tight. 

“I already told you that he doesn’t know, Dan. Leave it.” 

Andrew felt it like a hot knife, leaving him cut and feverish and aching. He had no clue what Danielle Wilds was angry about, and for the first time, he cared. Whatever it was between them, Andrew was excluded, and he was excluded for a reason. 

Andrew was sick of being kicked out and cast aside. Looked over and abandoned. Neil had been the first to see him, to truly read past a facade— 

Andrew stood off the couch and shouldered his way around the Foxes’ coaches, his nonchalance effortlessly convincing through practise. “Have fun.”

Just before Andrew closed the door, Dan let out a soft “It’s like they never happened.” and—

Well. 

Andrew was not okay.

~

It happened in a series of painful coincidences. Andrew sitting on the roof of the Fox Tower until he didn’t want to anymore, and Neil sitting up in the stands, filling time by counting the rows of white and orange like he used to. They just missed each other as one went to exactly where the other was before. 

Neil didn’t walk up to the edge of the roof, leaning against the door with his hand resting against the handle like the summer warmth could be residual heat from Andrew’s hands, despite thinking that Andrew hadn’t been up here for years. 

Andrew broke into the inner court with old keys and sat within the goalkeepers’ box, eyes closing and seeing the original team standing in front of him, the goal lit up red, and the striker who’d scored turning around with hair just as red as the goal and triumphant eyes just as bright. 

They’d only missed each other walking too and from because Neil went around the long way, winding through campus to take up his time. 

Dan did not mention finding Andrew on the court to Neil, and Betsy didn’t mention Neil’s brief visit to Reddin Centre when saying hello to Andrew.

Lucky, perhaps, that the confrontation was postponed to the next day, because it was raining. 

A light drizzle. Neil caught his ride to Palmetto State with Dan once again, but this time Matt tagged along. 

“How often are you up here?” Neil curled his arm around his knee, propping up the heel on the leather seats of Dan’s new car. 

“Not usually. But it’s off-season—hooray!” Matt grinned, nudging Neil’s shoulder lightly. “Good timing, Neil. If only campus was a little more lively: We could have hit all our best nap spots and terrorised our old professors. Or the baby Foxes. Hell, maybe we’d have time for both.”

“I’m afraid it’s just me and Wymack.” Dan piped up. “So nothing too rowdy, babe.”

Neil was dressed in his running clothes, but it was only lightly drizzling outside. Acutely ignoring the grey clouds, he bid the couple farewell. Matt thought he was crazy, but didn’t stop him. He’d have sandwiches for lunch if Neil came back on time. 

And there we was, running. Again. In a less metaphorical sense, this time. But he could still feel that strange, wound-up anxiety in his chest that eased ever so slightly the longer his legs stretched as he ran, the more blurred his surroundings became. 

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have ignored those black clouds. He barely noticed when the blurriness of his surroundings was the rainfall, and he only paused when he tilted his head up to breathe in, but was soaked through to the skin. 

He was fucking shivering, he realised, now that he’d stopped running. _For fuck’s sake_. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and flipped up the hood to his thin, breathable running jacket, and started walking. 

There were still cars on the road, but as the whole sky darkened and rain thickened, they seemed to lessen to almost none. A crack of thunder concealed the skid of tires as a car turned onto the road Neil walked along, and as it raced down, water sprayed up from the gutters. Rainfall Neil could deal with, but not buckets of muddy gutter water. Neil stood still, looking down at himself in unattached disdain, only to see the car who’d splashed him having pulled up and parked. 

Someone got out and slammed the car door shut loud enough that you could hear it over the rain and another crack of thunder: Neil wiped his face and flicked the water off his hands (Though that did absolutely nothing) to see the figure approaching him. 

Blond and five-foot even, he wasn’t much of a physical presence. If you didn’t know him, Andrew Minyard wasn’t much of a metaphysical presence either. To Neil, it was like every one of his nerve endings had caught on fire. 

Andrew tugged down Neil’s hood, like Neil’s wet, red hair was the indicator of who he was, rather than the scars on his cheeks or the blue of his eyes. He was squinting at Neil, though it was probably just the rain. 

Neil didn’t know why he let himself be tugged along, Andrew’s hand gripping Neil’s arm and the other yanking open the back door of the car and pushing Neil inside. 

Neil looked at his shaking hands when Andrew got back into the driver’s seat, putting it back into drive and shooting off, like he hadn’t just picked Neil off the side of the road. 

He didn’t even look at Neil. 

_You were right._

Anger—that was anger. Pulsating through his veins. 

But it was— it had to be— _grief_. Grief that was pulling tighter on the rope around Neil’s neck. 

Andrew had the heaters blasting, which did little for Neil’s shivering. Neil alternated between staring at the headrest in front of him—who’s car was this?—and his hands. His stomach knotted over and over, every time they took a turn. They were getting closer and closer to Palmetto State: Where would they stop? Would Andrew just kick him out? Would he say anything to Neil at all? 

They pulled up to a stop outside the Foxhole Court, and Andrew hadn’t even looked at him. 

_Fine._

Neil shoved the door open and stumbled out into the oncoming rain. The car’s engine didn’t start up, even after Neil shut the door but he refused to turn around. _Andrew doesn’t care. Andrew never cared. Andrew won’t care, even if you kick up a fuss._

Neil’s back pocket buzzed. 

_**from: Andrew // 08:46am 13/4**_  
roof y/n

His throat constricted.

Andrew said he couldn’t _‘do this’ _over text, and yet here they were and Andrew still wouldn’t look him in the eye or breathe a word in his direction.__

___**to: Andrew // 08:49 - sent**_  
will you even say anything if i go? have you suddenly gone mute? you haven't even looked at me._ _

__The car door opened, and Neil clutched his phone to his chest._ _

__“Yes or no, Neil.”_ _

__The clap of thunder was awfully theatric, and the flash of lightning illuminated everything, for only a moment._ _

__He looked over his shoulder, still refusing to turn around. “When it clears up.”_ _

__He walked away._ _

__~_ _

__“Neil,” Matt shook him by the shoulders. Neil was still gripping his phone, nauseous with shock, emptiness slowly gnawing at his stomach. A strange hollowness. “Neil, for god’s sake, you had your phone with you! Why didn’t you reply?”_ _

__“I was running.” Neil mumbled. “I wasn’t checking my phone.”_ _

___“Neil.”_ Dan urged. “Running? In this weather?”_ _

__“I’m fine.” Neil insisted._ _

__“You take off five years from my life expectancy every time you say that.” Matt’s hand was resting on Neil’s head._ _

__“You’d be dead.” Dan remarked._ _

__“Let me dry off and change out, and then we can run some drills.” Neil ducked out of Matt’s gentle reach. “It was just some rain.”_ _

__“Some? You can barely see out there!”_ _

__Neil ran them up the court until they stopped complaining about Neil’s recklessness and started complaining about Neil’s obsession with the sport, despite all three of their careers centred around it. It was only Neil’s career that his life depended on, though, and they knew that. They also knew Neil was most comfortable in familiarity, and he was most familiar with their gentle jostling and their slight overbearing care, where they pushed at boundaries enough to get him to pay attention but not enough to make him uncomfortable._ _

__“I was thinking of going to see Wymack later.” Neil towelled his washed hair, walking back out into the mailroom where Dan had been waiting for him an Matt. “Maybe we could all go have dinner at Abby’s.”_ _

__They looked at each other, like there was something Neil was missing._ _

___Oh,_ Neil felt like an idiot when he realised. _Andrew will be with Wymack.__ _

__Of course, they didn’t know that Neil knew that Andrew was here. Neil looked from Matt to Dan, and wondered if they would ever confess._ _

__“I’ll call him.” Dan said, which was neither here nor there._ _

___They don’t want to hurt me,_ Neil reminded himself. _They don’t want to make me upset.__ _

__Neil followed them outside, sullen._ _

__“It’s cleared up.” Matt commented, holding a palm out and inspecting it not a moment later. “You can always rely on South Carolina to dry everything out as soon as it can.”_ _

___Yes or no, Neil._ _ _

___When it clears up._ _ _

__Neil looked up at the blue sky, and marvelled at how it contrasted so awfully with the sick, tumbling feeling in his stomach._ _

__“Lunch?”_ _

__Neil was moving in robotics: He didn’t want to dash off, because where would he go? What excuse would they believe? He hated lying to them, but until this rocking feeling stopped making him nauseous, until this confrontation was resolved and past him, he didn’t want to say anything._ _

__Neil was sitting on top of a hastily constructed building of support: The Foxes were his family, were the walls and windows and doors and expansive gardens. Andrew had kept it from crumbling. Andrew was the foundations._ _

__Neil didn’t want to fall down: He was terrified of it. How much worse could this get? How much lower could he fall?_ _

__Lunch was subdued but Neil felt watched, unwelcome eyes roaming over the landscape of his skin. Neil hated feeling like he was being watched. Paranoia was a sickly familiar smoke that he inhaled, making him thick-headed and heavy. He was meant to be safe. He was meant to be safe._ _

__“Neil,” Matt put his hand over where Neil’s had yet to pick up his knife, despite his lunch being set down in front of him 6 minutes ago. “How are the antidepressants going?”_ _

__Sometimes Neil forgot he told Matt most things. He lifted his head from where it’d been resting in his palm and said: “They’re going okay.”_ _

__“Have you noticed a difference?”_ _

__“I trialled two different kinds but…” Neil flapped his hand. “They all do the same thing. They’re going fine, I think.”_ _

__“You talked to Betsy?”_ _

__“Yesterday, actually.”_ _

__“Good.” Matt smiled._ _

__Neil almost smiled back._ _

__Dan gazed off, pretending to not be intrigued about this rare exchange of information that Neil didn’t share with just anyone. They finished lunch slowly, and Neil payed as Dan and Matt helped the waiter clean up. He followed them out the door, looking at the puddles disappearing on the ground, and the clouds disappearing over the horizon._ _

__His time was up._ _

__He veered off the path, fingers gripping awfully tight at the strap of his bag as he said over his shoulder: “Text me when to get to Abby’s.”_ _

__“Where are you going?”_ _

__“Fresh air.”_ _

__“But you—“_ _

__Matt tugged Dan away. Neil closed his eyes only for a moment: He forced himself to pull them open to stare at his feet, taking one step after another._ _

__He was walking along the edge of campus. He walked past the Foxhole Court, and two lecture halls, and an empty sorority, his old route on Perimeter Road. He stared at the Fox Tower like it was something with an ugly, heavy presence, but that was just Neil’s subconscious, curling itself into a cowardly ball to hide from whatever awaited Neil at the top of the stairs._ _

__Neil climbed the stairs. Jostled the door open. Slowly stepped out._ _

__“Took your time.”_ _

__Neil paused just before slamming the door shut and chose to shut it as quietly as he could, before turning around. He crouched down and pressed his fingertips into the small puddle on the concrete and watched rainwater slide down into his palms._ _

__He stood up. “I said when it cleared up.”_ _

__“Theatrical.” Andrew scoffed._ _

__“Should I come back in two hours?” Neil offered, looking at him. “Would that be enough time for you decide whether or not you’re going to be fucking prick or not?”_ _

__“Stop it.” Andrew turned around: He’d been looking out over the roof: Now he looked up at Neil with golden-hazel eyes, and permanently-etched in shadows under his eyes, and a hint of desperation but not much else. “Spit it out, instead of talking in circles.”_ _

__“Spit what out?” Neil clenched his hands into fists. He almost reached out to grasp Andrew’s face between his hands, but he remembered: _No. I don’t trust him anymore. Wait.__ _

__“Your decision, your ultimatum, your latest argument with Kevin: I don’t care, Neil.” Andrew took a step closer. “Just—don’t leave me with nothing.” _Everyone’s left me with nothing,_ He didn’t say. _You were the one who wasn’t meant to leave.__ _

__“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in two months.” Neil muttered through his teeth. Every muscle in his body was wound like a spring, pulled taut like a rope._ _

__“You are apt at ignoring calls.” Andrew decided. “I almost expected something to happen whilst I was gone.”_ _

__Whilst I was gone._ _

__“Are you back?”_ _

__Neil watched the swallow work down Andrew’s throat, the unsteady inhale that was held in as he said: “If you would like me to be.”_ _

__None of this made sense. There should have been an apology: Andrew should have been begging for Neil’s forgiveness. But he was standing here like he expected Neil to say yes, like nothing had happened and nothing had changed as a result._ _

__But he reminded himself: Andrew had already apologised. He’d already sung please like a prayer, crossing his own boundaries like he’d crossed his own wrists in a desperate urge to communicate to Neil how important this was to him. Despite both of them hating that word, despite both of them knowing that they each hated it as much as the other did: He’d still used it, and it echoed around Neil’s head and conjured up a strange feeling on his skin, like thin knife-blades dancing across vulnerable skin, digging in just hard enough to leave a mark but not hard enough to break the skin._ _

__Slowly, Neil nodded._ _

__Andrew let go of the breath he’d been holding and reached out to slide his hand to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Neil’s neck, but he stood out of Andrew’s reach when he felt sick. “No.”_ _

__Andrew flinched, ever so slightly, but it was enough for Neil so see. Wariness. Confusion. Andrew hadn’t realised what had changed._ _

__“Neil?” Andrew murmured. It was a silent _why?_ that Neil didn’t need to be asked out loud. _ _

__“You need—” Neil looked at him. “You need to give me time.”_ _

__Andrew’s lips thinned as he rolled them into his mouth._ _

__“You can’t expect me to just trust you implicitly, instantly.”_ _

__Andrew took a step back, and nodded._ _

__This was all on Neil’s terms now. When this had started, Neil had been tip-toeing around grey zones, wondering where was safe and what he could say. Now it was reversed: Neither of them were good at functioning as normal human beings did, but it was Andrew who needed to be conscious of what he said, what he did._ _

__Neil didn’t want apologies, he realised. He didn’t need Andrew to beg him for forgiveness. He just needed to trust Andrew, and to know that Andrew trusted him. It never came quickly._ _

__Neil walked to the edge of the roof and looked over it, then out over the Palmetto State campus._ _

__Andrew had been the catalyst of how living changed for Neil. He was no longer fighting to be alive, no longer living just to survive. Now he was living for a life he wanted. And in this life, he wanted Andrew._ _

__“I can hear you thinking from back here.”_ _

__Neil looked back at him, and then brushed his fingers over the concrete ledge in front of him. “Won’t you join me?”_ _

__“Things have changed, Neil.” Andrew’s head fell to the side, and he was looking at Neil like that. “I don’t need to sit on the edge of a roof to feel something.”_ _

__“I want to go to Eden’s.” Neil knotted his fingers together, wringing them out like damp towels. He let Andrew pull his hands apart, but Andrew immediately dropped his hands instead of holding his wrists, like they used to._ _

__“Retracing your steps?” To anyone, this was impassive. Andrew was a brick wall yielding no information, no emotion. Neil saw the inquisition in his eyes and the curious raise to his eyebrows, and the slight pucker of apprehension to his lips._ _

__“Something like that.”_ _

__Andrew followed Neil down the steps._ _

__~_ _

__They went the following evening, on a Monday. Eden’s was less of a club this early in the week, and more of a bar to men and women after work. They came in jeans and dress-shirts and did not stand out in that regard, just two men walking into a bar. But after years, many of the staff had moved on, and they were no longer treated like VIPs_ _

__Andrew didn’t know what he—himself and Neil alike—was doing, and he didn’t like it. Neil never voluntarily came here for a good time: He went because Andrew went, but Andrew watched him approach the bar and sit on an empty stool, fingers brushing gently over the one next to him as a gesture for Andrew to sit down._ _

__Andrew didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He still felt like he needed to apologise, to explain himself, but that wasn’t what Neil wanted. For the first time, he didn’t know what Neil wanted, and he felt lost._ _

__“Roland’s moved on, I think.” Neil commented, looking up and down the bar._ _

__Andrew didn’t want to correct him by saying he hadn’t, because they’d still remained in touch via text, and that probably wasn't something to bring up when Andrew felt like he was treading on thin ice. He rested his head in his hand and waited for Roland to come out of the kitchen. He watched Neil’s reaction for when he did, wondering if this was a test._ _

__“Hey,” Roland blanched. “What are you two doing here?”_ _

__“Catching up.” Neil shook out his curls and Andrew’s stomach rolled._ _

__Roland looked between them. “With me, or each other?”_ _

__Neil gave him a stone-cold look, and Andrew stared at the shelves behind the bar._ _

__Two rum-and-cokes were settled down in front of them, and Andrew stared at his, eyes clouded over with thought. What did Neil want from him, by doing this? Did he want Andrew to let his guard down? Was this a test of how much Andrew trusted Neil, or how much Neil trusted him?_ _

__Turns out, the correct answer was none of them. When Andrew finally came to himself, another drink was being pushed in front of Neil, and he barely hesitated to look at Andrew before throwing it back. Andrew reached out to take it from him after he put it down. “Neil?”_ _

__“Mm?” He looked at Andrew blearily._ _

__“What are you doing?”_ _

__“I’m in a bar. What else—“ He coughed. “Would I be doing?”_ _

__“Why are you getting—“_ _

__“Because I can.” Neil pointed right in his face, like he was throwing an accusation. “Because I don’t trust myself to shitface—to get shitfaced—around anyone else, but you were the reason I wanted to, but I couldn’t, because you were there. Weren’t.” Neil corrected._ _

__“Christ, Neil.”_ _

__“I hate you.” Neil spat, head falling forward. Andrew kept very still as Neil’s head rested on Andrew’s shoulder, thinking _we truly have reversed positions, haven’t we._ _ _

__“You have every right to.” Andrew carefully placed his hand on Neil’s shoulder to keep him steady, sitting on the rickety barstool that he was. The scarring on his shoulder was familiar under his fingers, despite a dress shirt separating them and Andrew relaxed._ _

__Neil breathed out and Andrew felt it on his collarbone._ _

__“You are not falling asleep here.”_ _

__“Two seconds.” Neil murmured._ _

__“How many drinks have you had?”_ _

__“Enough.” Neil mumbled the word against the skin of Andrew’s neck, and Andrew swallowed._ _

__“I think it’s time to go.”_ _

__Neil didn’t say anything._ _

__Andrew waved Roland over, who eyed Neil with trepidation. Andrew took out his wallet from his back pocket and threw it at Roland, but Roland threw it right back with a timid smile._ _

__“Drinks are on the house.” He said. “Take care of him, Andrew.”_ _

__Andrew thought he had been, but now he knew that it hadn’t been enough._ _

__Andrew slipped Neil off the barstool. Neil was barely walking, half-asleep and all of his weight pulling against the arm Andrew had around Neil’s waist. Andrew settled him carefully in Bee’s car and shut the door._ _

__Neil made a soft sound as they drove, and Andrew’s throat was tight._ _

__His phone was ringing._ _

__“What.”_ _

__“Where are you?” He heard Wymack tapping his fingers on a wooden surface, most likely his desk. The old man would be sitting, lounging back with his foot crossed over his ankle, books and papers scattered absolutely everywhere, but just enough space for him to rest his elbow along the parallel edge of the desk. He was the only father figure Andrew had ever known. Andrew knew every one of his affectations and could construct this perfect image without a qualm._ _

__“Driving.”_ _

__“When are you coming back?”_ _

__“Now. I’ll be there in an hour. Who’s there?”_ _

__“Abby’s going to head back soon. She can give Betsy a lift.”_ _

__“I’m coming, Bee can take her own car.”_ _

__“Okay, Andrew.”_ _

__There was an awful, prolonged silence, and it weighed like bricks on his chest._ _

__“Andrew.”_ _

__Andrew said nothing._ _

__“They can’t find Neil.”_ _

__Andrew briefly looked at Neil where he’d curled up. “Who’s they?”_ _

__“Dan and Matt. He was staying with them in Augustus.”_ _

__“Tell them he’s safe.”_ _

__Wymack paused. “Is he with you?”_ _

__“Tell them to go home.”_ _

__A pause._ _

__“Alright.”_ _

__The line went dead, and Neil sighed softly. Andrew’s head leaned back to rest against the headrest, his swallow working it’s way down his throat. _It’ll be okay._ Bee’s voice of reason soothed his frazzled nerves and relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel. _ _

__He listened to the soft rhythm of Neil’s breathing for the rest of the drive and concentrated on pushing the whittling sneer of his conscience far enough away that he couldn’t hear it._ _

__~_ _

__David heard the awkward fumbling with the door handle and the jingle of keys, so he walked out into the living room where Andrew was just shouldering his way into his apartment, with Betsy’s keys in one hand and—_ _

__Neil. Neil, being carried in his arms. Andrew had positioned Neil’s head to rest on his shoulder, forehead pressed into the side of Andrew’s neck, rested both of Neil’s arms in his lap, and held onto him securely._ _

__They were both dressed nicely, and neither had any visible bruising or blood. Andrew slowly eased Neil onto David’s couch and then turned around, looking away. Betsy stood up from the dining table to approach him, taking the keys out of Andrew’s offering palm and whispering something in Andrew’s ear. The door shut behind her, and Wymack slowly approached the couch._ _

__“Is he alright?”_ _

__“He drank too much.” Andrew sat precariously, right on the edge of the couch and giving Neil as much space as he could. Andrew looked up at David, and David had never seen Andrew at ease like this._ _

__“Are you two alright?”_ _

__“He needs time.”_ _

__That was—that was neither here nor there. “A loss of trust?”_ _

__Andrew shrugged, and gently—ever so gently—moved a curl away from Neil’s forehead. Then, he sunk down onto the floor next to the couch and took Neil’s hand, fingers dusting over the scars like he’d memorised their pattern, closing his eyes._ _

__That was more than enough for David, who assumed Andrew would sort himself out and moved into the bedroom, raising his phone to his ear._ _

__“He’s here, Dan.”_ _

__She let out an exhale of relief. “Is he alright?”_ _

__“He’s fine. They’re fine, I think.”_ _

__“Who, Andrew and him? He was with Andrew?”_ _

__“Mm.” Wymack turned back to hint a smile at the closed door._ _

__“Well.” Dan said, sounding confused. “Remind him to give us a call when he wants to come get his things.”_ _

__“I will. Goodnight, Dan.”_ _

__“Night.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me for this @jemejem


End file.
